


Lucky

by alethiometry



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alethiometry/pseuds/alethiometry
Summary: In all the weeks they've been sort-of seeing each other (read: fucking), they've never spent the night at each other’s place.





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [businessboyjared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/businessboyjared/gifts).



> Prompt: "on a completely different night than the one from the s5 finale, they stay up late again working on pied piper stuff (at monicas place instead of the office) and when theyre done theyre like “hell yeah lets fuck to celebrate” but they kiss for like 2 seconds before falling asleep all tangled up on monicas couch :^)"

In all the weeks they've been sort-of seeing each other (read: fucking), they've never spent the night at each other’s place. Part of it is convenience: in this day and age, it's all too easy to call up a Lyft and be home in bed in no time at all. Another part of it is discretion: on the rare occasion that they get down and dirty at Erlich’s (they all still think of it as Erlich’s, even now), it wouldn't make sense for Monica to sleep over. Too many other guys crowding the space; too much risk of being caught. Frankly, Gilfoyle is surprised no one has wised up to the two of them yet.

A large part of it, though, is that Monica has simply never asked, and Gilfoyle isn't one to presume. Not with her. Not like this. He knows there’s baggage—has to be, with what little he knows of her romantic past. She’s a busy woman. She enjoys her independence. She doesn't want to put labels on things that don't need categorizing. He understands. Oh, he understands.

Sometimes, lying awake in the dead of night, alone in his own bed that with each passing day feels larger and larger, a void of soft dark cotton swallowing him whole, he wishes he didn't.

But he doesn't get to call the shots on this, and it's not a hindrance on their work or on—whatever they are. Colleagues. Friends. Fuckbuddies. It doesn't matter. So why ruin a nice thing?

And it is nice. Oh, it is nice.

He’ll take what he can get with Monica, and she gives him so much already. Her breath, hot against his ear as she whispers all the filthy things she wants to do to his asshole. Her long, nimble fingers, wrapped around his cock as she pumps, faster and faster until he gasps and shudders and comes all over his stomach. The way her back arches when he flips her around and pins her down, fucking into her sweet and slow while she moans his name, nails digging into his hips as she pulls him close, so close, so tangled together that he can't tell where he ends and she begins and oh, she gives him so, so much, and he is so very lucky.

 

\---

 

His phone buzzes on a Saturday evening as he lounges in one of the big cushy armchairs in the living room, having relinquished his usual spot beside Dinesh to Bighead, who wants his turn at Fortnite. Which is fine with Gilfoyle; he's got a couple of books he wants to finish reading before the library starts hounding him for late fees, anyway.

The text alert comes from Monica, bemoaning her lost weekend as she labors away at the crypto deck she needs to present on Monday. They've finally taken off, the value of PPC is rising slowly but steadily, and Richard’s breathing down their necks even more than usual. The pressure to perform is higher than ever, and Monica is nothing if not a perfectionist.

_ So fucking bored _ , her text reads.  _ I need motivation. _

_ What kind of motivation?  _ Gilfoyle sends back, though he knows the answer already.

_ Why don't you come over and help me brainstorm? Come on, be a pal. _

He's out the door less than two minutes later, ignoring Dinesh’s inquiries as to where he's headed.

 

\---

 

He's no good at all this logistical ICO stuff; after all, that's why Richard brought Monica into the fold. He's got half a mind to take a nap on her couch while she revises her copy and rearranges her slides, but he remembers how she stuck with him that night in the offices as he hacked away to uncover the 51% attack, so he keeps his mouth shut and calls up Postmates to bring them pizza and coffee. And none of that fancy Stumptown shit, either. Just good old Philz, like he knows she prefers.

“You need to take a break,” he tells her bluntly at midnight. “Come on, let's go for a smoke. Stretch our legs for a second.”

“In a bit,” she mutters, eyes fixed on her laptop screen with an intensity of focus that makes his chest feel soft and warm. “I’m almost done.”

She's not almost done.

“You should go to bed,” he says at two in the morning. They've moved from working at her kitchen counter to working on her living room couch—a sure sign that she's fading fast. “Let's just pick this up tomorrow.”

“You're free to go,” she replies. “I don't mind. I'm sorry, I know this is boring.”

It is a little boring. He stays anyway.

At two-thirty he finally convinces her to stop rearranging her slides. At two-forty-five she’s finally happy with the copy and begins practicing making the actual presentation, to a test audience of one. At three, she's fast asleep on the couch.

“Monica,” Gilfoyle says, tapping her on the shoulder. “Hey. Monica. Go to bed.”

“Fuck off, Gilfoyle,” she mumbles, then grabs his hand and threads their fingers together with a sleepy grin.

“Come on, let me get you into bed. I've gotta head back, too, I'm this close to passing out.”

Monica blinks up at him, bleary-eyed. “So stay,” she says simply, then frowns. “How come you never stay?” she asks.

“Because you've never asked.”

“Well, I'm asking you now. C’mere.” She wiggles a little further into the couch to make room, and Gilfoyle doesn't need to be told twice. He removes his glasses and sets them on the coffee table before laying down, wrapping an arm around her. Monica kisses him softly on the lips, then shifts again so that her head rests on his chest, sighing contentedly as he strokes a hand absently through her hair.

“Love you,” she murmurs, so softly that Gilfoyle’s half-sure he's already dreaming. Then she's fast asleep, breathing slow and steady as he pulls her closer, as close as he can, and closes his eyes, and matches his breaths with hers.


End file.
